In keeping with this week’s moon theme, today’s Throwback Friday poem drifts back to November 2024, when the moon seemed to whisper of endurance and flight. Drawn from Chapter 6 of Time Hears No Sound, Travel and Life: Time Flies — it traces the solitary courage of a seagull chasing horizons.
Under the full moon’s watch, the journey continues — across water, memory, and time.
Full Moon Rising
I am an aging seagull And I must be out of my skull
Thinking that I’m fit enough To fly further than the bluff
No matter, there is a full moon To guide me across this barren dune
My journey is a lonely one But I’m not to be outdone
I know there is another blue ocean Beyond this World’s wavering horizon
And under this quiet moon, the journey keeps unfolding — one small, steady heartbeat at a time.
Only posted on my site on June 1st, submitted the next day, and published yesterday — a beautifully swift and heartening response from Spillwords.
I’m absolutely ecstatic to share that my poem “Between the Moon and Clouds” has been accepted and published in Spillwords Magazine this week. My heartfelt thanks to editor Dagmara for selecting my piece — her support means the world.
You can read the poem on Spillwords by clicking the link below, and if you feel moved to, you’re welcome to leave a 💗 for the article:
Please note: the featured image above was kindly supplied by Spillwords Press.
Between the Moon and Clouds
written by: Ivor Steven
They say the world is changing, but the moon cannot stop frowning, while nature is unerringly hurting, beneath our fettered feet.
Between the worried moon and the settling clouds, I perceive a loud rumbling sigh from beyond the deep blue sky.
In one ferocious breath, Thor decries, “Beware of the ground’s ringleader’s lies about the Earth’s visible demise, and hear the crust’s cries with your own eyes.
Ivor Steven was formerly an Industrial Chemist, then a Plumber, now retired. He has had numerous poems published in anthologies and online magazines. He has 2 self-published books, “Tullawalla” and “Perceptions,” and is an active member of the Geelong Writers Inc. (Australia) and an appointed writer for “Coffee House Writers” magazine (USA).
Just days after first sharing these thoughts on June 1st — born in that quiet space between day and night — Spillwords welcomed the poem into their pages with a wonderfully swift response
Between the moon’s low, soft glow and the sky’s slow‑moving clouds, my flight over the moon reminded me how even the quietest moments can hear the light.
Please note: All attached photos were originally taken by me, and then, with Copilot’s assistance, the moon has been enlarged, and the photos subsequently sharpened and enhanced
Beyond the Midday Moon
The midday moon is less than 10° above the horizon — low enough for my weary wings to fly over.
The morning clouds are dispersing, and up here, above the moon, my shadows are free to echo my dreams.
Between the sky and the moon, I gaze into their shared light — sometimes life is out of sight, other times everything is alright, either way, they welcome my unspoken words, whether day or night.
A song that drifts in the same strange daylight as the poem — a quiet companion to the light above us.
Featured Image Above:The image is a photomontage of a dim, muted horizon, and a crow flying above the horizon (which is the glued-on piece)
Hello, dear readers and followers. I contribute to Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) every second week, and I’m delighted to share that my latest poem,“Climbing Time,” appears in the new issue. You can read it by following the link below. >> Climbing Time – Coffee House Writers
The day’s soft edges — a wavering line, a lingering bird, a fallen quill — all found their way into the poem.
Somewhere beneath the melody, the climb keeps unfolding.
It’s been a week of wild weather and wilder WordPress moments, but today the moon slipped through the clouds with a smile, reminding me that even the sky resets itself.
Over at Weekly Prompts. The monthly Colour Challenge is, Blue. To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here
Moon Talk
G’day everyone. After some wet, windy, wintry days and a worrying and wearisome WordPress app week, it was a relief to see the moon’s glowing face.
I looked above the tranquil trees toward the clearing, cottony clouds and there, at last, I saw the moon’s handsome, happy face — and finally we could resume our “Happiness” conversation after resolving the week’s glitched frustrations and consternations (contaminations… contradictions… take your pick).
And as the moon drifts on and the music finds its rhythm, I follow along — lighter now, and finally in step again
This poem was penned in May 2024 and quietly tucked away. Rediscovering it today felt like stepping back into the room where it began, so I’ve gently revised it for my Throwback Friday reflection.
The Universe Beyond My Wardrobe’s Doors (Revised)
I live in a small, compact villa. My abode is comfortable and cozy. The bedroom doubles up as my writer’s studio and library.
The wardrobe’s doors are near the end of my bed. On the doors, I hang a calendar and a special photo of me and Carole taken for our 25th anniversary
I gaze at the calendar and ponder. The appointments are in black, important dates are marked in red, and my poetry events are scribbled in blue.
The calendar has many blank squares — the days I spend writing. I write to her about love and coping. I write for myself, about life and nature.
I write for everyone who reads my poems. I write my thoughts about humanity’s existence within the universe and the great beyond. I write words, “Until Eyes Hear Sound.”
As the room opens into the universe once more, here’s a song to travel with — much like Melanie’s lovely old “Look What They’ve Done to My Song, Ma,” carrying my memories back into the light.
Hello, dear readers and followers. As you may know, I stopped producing my “Tullawalla Booklets” at #31 because that was the house number of our family’s Tullawalla Homestead. Yet the booklet format is a superb way for me to catalogue the vast number of poems I produce, and as the saying goes, “I Am Turning Another Page”. Here I have begun a new series of poem booklets, called “Shangri La”, the name of my little Villa, and it is my piece of “earthly paradise, a retreat from the pressures of modern civilization”. I now have “2354”poems gathered across these booklets (On my bookshelf, sits “The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, with 1775 poems — when I first began writing, I never imagined I would one day surpass that number.)
“Like all my booklets, this one is here to be read at your leisure — no rush, no expectation, just an open page waiting when you are.”
Click >>Here, for the link to your FREE: PDF Copy of“Shangri La, Volume 20, Life’s Missing Teacher.”
The Little Cloud Studio window display at the Creative Geelong Makers Hub stirred a memory of Emily Dickinson’s quiet devotion to nature — this piece is my own small letter back to the world, written from a forest of imagination.
“This is my letter to the World That never wrote to Me — The simple News that Nature told — With tender Majesty, Her Message is committed To Hands I cannot see — For love of Her — Sweet — countrymen — Judge tenderly — of Me.”
Emily Dickinson
The Forest, a Fantasy Land
Come join me in the forest’s fantasy land; I know of a picture-perfect place where the dappled sunlight silently filters through the trees.
There’s a picnic table built for two. I’ll bring a food hamper and Emily Dickerson’s magical book of poems.
Within the bower’s peace and quiet, if you listen closely, nature’s gentle breeze softly rustles through the ferns and leaves; and then you’ll hear the green toadstools from the forest floor’s mossy logs humming a familiar tune.
Today’s music drifts from the heart of the forest — Enya’s “The Memory of the Trees.”
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 